


M: Monochromatic

by brokxnharry



Series: Teen Wolf A-Z Challenge (with songs) [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Has Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Pack Mom Melissa McCall, Stiles Stilinski Saves The Hales, mentions of Hale Fire, ptsd derek kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Derek's house is on fire, and he can't tell if it was ever not. Stiles goes in for him.





	M: Monochromatic

**Author's Note:**

> Song: My own - Whitaker

The ceiling was painted in shades of red, sometimes a dark red, almost maroon, the color of the blood left between the shreds of his sister's body. Other times, bright, tainted with orange, like his mother's eyes, right before they fell closed, and she fell away. There was some black by the corners, framing the picture he hadn't been able to blink away, hadn't been able to see past, since Kate burned it into his mind, burned his home down, and his family, alive.

Smoke was always there. Something was always burning in his chest, always fading to ashes, and he could never put it down, could never get to it on time, could never find where the fire had started, because it felt like it never ended, it never went away. It'd been burning, alive, for years now, the sound of it crackling, mere white noise in his life. Like his family's screams, and the sounds his sister released, that sounded like sadness and misery and grief. If they sounded like anything, they'd sound like her.

He could never tell when he was dreaming, because his dreams had morphed into his reality, the things he saw, bled into the things he kept in his mind, and it all hurt the same. It all felt the same, like helplessness and loss and a kind of break that never went away, never mended. The faces always looked familiar, clothed in the blonde of his sister's hair, and the brown of his father's eyes, and what his mother wore to bed, when she was feeling nostalgic.

Derek remembered falling into his bed, reading about something or the other. He thought there was a storm coming, smelled it in the night, but he thought he'd leave the windows opened, to let some of the air in. He remembered leaving the book on the nightstand, closing his eyes when they began feeling too heavy, too slow. But he didn't know if he'd blinked them opened again. If he was dreaming the heat brushing against his body, teasing, taunting, before it devoured him whole, stripped him away, till he was left in blackened, unrecognizable, remains.

There was a heaviness on him. A weight that wasn't his. He thought he heard something, someone, tearing past the screaming of his family, the sounds the fire made, as it dove into the walls, clung to everything that he'd once built his life around, eating away at the foundations of his being, till there was nothing left, and it all came tumbling down. He felt something across his face, wondered if it was the fire, but it didn't break through his skin, it didn't pierce through him. It felt somewhat kind, caring, and he wanted to lean into it, wanted to give in, but the voice was far too distracting, unfamiliar among all the voices in his head, the voices of his dreams.

So Derek willed his eyelids to part, barely registering that they'd been connected, that his eyes had been squeezed shut. And there was a shadow near his face, hands on his chest, and his arms, like they were holding him together. And he didn't know if it was his monochromatic tendencies, or if the piercing eyes were turning more red than anything else, almost fading into the angry looking background, that was his ceiling, his room, his house, burning like that was what they were meant to always do.

Derek gasped, coughing out the smoke clogging his airway, coating his lungs. Stiles pulled away, sagging in relief, allowing Derek to sit up, around his body that was still grounding him, containing him, almost.

" Stiles? What are you doing here? What's going on?"

" Okay, Derek, I need you to focus. There was a thunder storm, it set part of the woods on fire. One of the trees fell through your window. We need to get out of here, **_now_**. Come on." Stiles climbed off Derek, standing, with a hand to his chest, and another over his mouth, as he coughed into his elbow, sounding groggy and breathless. And Derek couldn't understand. Stiles was never meant to be anywhere near his dreams. He was never meant to be threaded into that picture, that painting Derek hung on his chest, framed somewhere in his mind, because it felt like a start to an end. Felt like something had happened then, pushing the world away from its axis, and making it revolve around it instead.

" Derek, get up!" Stiles whined, coughing so aggressively, his body swayed, almost lost its balance. Derek pushed away from his bed, eyes scurrying away from the still burning tree, that had filled the empty space of his room, crowded it with green, that was no longer green, was turning black too. Along with everything else.

" We have to get on our knees, because there's less smoke down there."

" Stiles, Cora and Peter. We- we have to get them out first."

" They're out. Scott got Cora. Peter was already out." Stiles was on his knees, and Derek tried not to think of how he'd come in for him. Had walked through fire, with no werewolf powers, no chances of healing, of being unharmed. Derek could have cried, if Stiles' heartbeat wasn't hitting against his eardrums, alarming him that it could give out soon, that it could stop, and leave him in silence.

They got to the stairs, and Stiles was leaning against the railway, standing on trembling legs, feeling the skin of his palms blistering, peeling, but he still turned to make sure Derek was nearby, was still following. And he was. Standing a bit taller, breathing a bit lighter, skin almost completely covered in a layer of darkened, burned out, smoke. It was barely a second, that Stiles tried to steal away, to take in how Derek looked, how he felt, when he was so close, despite the confusion in his eyes, how lost he seemed to be in his own head. But then Stiles staggered, tripped, as the roof roared, screamed for someone to stop it from collapsing, as it fell apart, burying Stiles under the wreckage that was Derek's home.

Derek halted, the step beneath his feet, the last one standing, the rest of the staircase, collapsed somewhere near Stiles. So close, it could have poked an eye out, could have broken another bone. Derek could hear the sheriff's sirens now, could smell the firefighters' water, trying to defeat the ruthless fire, that seemed to grow and grow, spread out into the skies, burning the moon right out of the night, leaving the world in darkness and remains.

Derek threw himself away, giving in to the free fall, to the gravity tugging at him, pulling him down. He hoped the floor wouldn't crumble beneath him, at least until he could get Stiles out. And then the house could take him, and he would go. He would stay, like he was always supposed to. Burn along with it, melt into the land that belonged to his family, that had swallowed them whole, after there was barely anything left.

He fell next to Stiles on all fours, his ankle making a sound like it was cracking, but he pushed the collapsed roof away, broke through it, until Stiles was coughing out, eyes wide and frantic and still so fucking red, it made Derek shudder. He heard Scott calling for them, asking if he should come in, announcing that he was, but Derek told him to stay, to call an ambulance if there wasn't one already, because Stiles' lungs sounded like the fire, gargling and crackling, and there was blood on him, that Derek couldn't see the source of, didn't have the time to, as he dug the claws on his feet into the heated floor, shoving the last of the pieces with all he had in him, that didn't seem to be enough, because it barely shifted. He ducked his head down, inching closer to Stiles, letting his back carry what it could, his hands pulling Stiles away, disregarding the scream that rocked right through him.

Derek could feel his shoulders clench, could feel his spine breaking, almost poking out of his skin, tearing right through him, as he breathed in, coughed out, pushing into the carved out floor, against the crushing weight on his back. Once he could move, he turned away, putting Stiles somewhere by his chest, in case he needed to shield him from something, take it for him, as the remains of the roof filled the space where Stiles' body had once laid.

" I can walk, I-" Stiles' words faltered, faded, halted somewhere beyond his chapped lips. Derek was limping, the bones of his foot trying to weld where it was supposed to, as he flung his body out of the house, losing his balance, losing his footing, losing his mind. But Scott's hands were on his shoulders, and someone was trying to peel Stiles away from where he'd almost molded into his chest, and he groaned, shaking his head, because he didn't think he could lose the weight of Stiles against him. He didn't think he could lose Stiles at all.

There was a gurney in front of him, and he carefully put Stiles down, like he could shatter, if his touch was too harsh. They put an oxygen mask around his face, his lungs still sounding like they were tearing, crumbling, but his eyes didn't dare look away from Derek, and his fingers were clinging to Derek's arm, almost breaking through the fabric, despite how loose everything else about him seemed to be.

Derek's legs gave out, his body coming undone, but he didn't hit the ground, because Cora was there, and she smelled so heavily of smoke, that Derek wanted to recoil, but there was something else there too, something that wasn't burned out of her yet, and Derek whimpered, choked, cried into her shoulder, and left the hand that Stiles had, with him.

" Fuck, Derek, I was so scared. I thought.. I thought I was going to lose you too, and," Derek shook his head, searching for his voice, for words to say that wouldn't sound like screams for help or callings to people that would never be there.

" We have to take him to the hospital. Does anyone want to come along? We don't usually do that, but we can't send another ambulance here, and there are too many people we need to check over." Derek pulled away, ran a filthy hand down his face, spreading more black across his skin, feeling like he wanted out. But he looked away from the paramedics, to where the sheriff stood, pleading with him, because he didn't think he could take much more.

" I'll take my own car and follow you there. Cora, you can come with me, if you want."

" I think-" Peter spoke, somewhere from the background, but the sheriff held a silencing hand in the air.

" Not you. You can find your own ride." Peter faded back into the background. Cora nodded, leaning into her brother's side, before detaching herself, and following the sheriff to his car.

" Do you, uh, want me to ride with you, or go with the sheriff?" Scott questioned, hesitant, and shaken to his core.

" I'm sorry guys, but we need to move now." The paramedics pulled Stiles' gurney into the back of their car, and his hand was falling away from Derek's, when he whined, reached out, seeking the proximity, the comfort that came with feeling Derek around.

A shaky breath went past Derek's lips, as he jumped into the ambulance, grasping Stiles' hand, sitting where they told him to. Stiles' fingers filled the spaces between his own, their hands trembling, shaking through the air between them, that smelled of smoke and blood and **_agony_**. The fire had eaten away into one of Stiles' shoes, brushing against his foot. The skin in the palms of his hands was patchy, raw, like Derek was touching into an open wound, like he was holding onto flush and muscle and pulsing blood. It almost made him sick.

The paramedics were telling numbers to one another, vitals. Scott had gotten in, right before they'd started driving to the hospital. He had a phone to his ear, his free hand on Stiles' leg, trying to take some of his pain, without stirring any suspicions. Stiles' eyes were slowing in their blink, taking too long to open, every time they closed. But then, they tried lifting the leg that Scott had to let go off, and the bone protruded past the flush, almost poking a hole through the fabric, as Stiles' screams filled the air, his eyes suddenly alert, drowning in veins as red as the fire had been. Something cracked open in Derek, as he folded himself on top of Stiles, things pouring out of him, draining him out of all he'd held onto.

" I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please be okay, Stiles. You have to be okay." Stiles tried to nod against him, breathing through the blinding pain, as they stabilized his injured leg. Every time he felt himself drift, fade away, he'd hold onto what he could of Derek. And he'd hold right back.

They took Stiles to an examination room, leaving Derek to crash into one of the chairs in the waiting area, worn down, tired in a way that he didn't think he'd ever been before. Scott sat next to him, head somewhere in his hands, legs jumping nervously. Melissa appeared not long after, followed by the sheriff, Cora, and Malia; who'd caught up with them on the way.

" Okay. Those who were at the fire, I need you each to take an examination room, to make sure everything is how it's supposed to be." Melissa announced, patting her son's head kindly, leaning in to plant a kiss into his hair, before she slipped back into her professional role. Cora stood behind her, waiting her turn. Scott moved too. But Derek remained unmoving, unresponsive. He didn't even think he could move, if he really wanted to.

" Derek?" Melissa asked, her eyebrows raised, in a silent threat.

" I'm fine."

" Yeah, no. I wasn't **_actually_** asking. Get up, come on, you're a mess." Melissa pinched Derek's ear, walking away, and dragging him along. He hissed and whined, remembering when his mother used to do that to him, and feeling something surfacing in his chest, that was probably longing, but could have been renewed grief too.

" Oh my God, mum, I love you." Scott laughed, the scent of fear easing away, as Melissa guided him into an examination room, closing the curtains, before doing the same for Cora, and Derek.

" Change into these, wash up, I'll check on them, and I'll come back to you, okay?"

" Melissa, I just-"

" Stiles is okay. They're working on him. And he's not going to like it if he finds you all like this. He went in to get you, Derek. Make it count for something." Melissa smiled, all kind and open and reassuring. Derek gave a hesitant nod, having to look away, because she looked of something he'd missed terribly, he could barely take it.

Melissa went to Scott first, checking his vitals, the oxygen levels in his body, but there were barely any traces of him being anywhere near the fire, all of it healed by now. She pulled him into her arms, feeling his weight against her, taking in how his touch still felt like he was one year old, wanting to understand her features, know them by heart. She told him he could wait with the sheriff, until she was done with Cora and Derek.

Cora was almost as well off as Scott was, having gotten out before any real damage had been done to the house. There were minimal signs of smoke inhalation though, so Melissa told her to rest, put an oxygen mask, and left it there for thirty minutes, before letting her go back to the waiting area.

She then moved to Derek's examination room. He was changed, his face clear enough for her to see the furrow between his eyebrows, the tears that fell away from his eyes, onto his hospital gown, without him sparing them a thought. He probably couldn't feel them falling. She sighed, putting a hand to his arm. He startled, pulling away instinctively, before realizing who it was.

" Anything about Stiles?" Derek questioned, sniffling, pushing the scent of smoke further back down his throat.

" Not yet. Lets check up on you and then I'll find someone to ask." Derek silently nodded, sitting back and allowing her to do what she willed. She remained kind, cautious in her touches, slow in her movements, not wanting to increase his nervousness, poke at his panic.

" That leg needs some rest. I'll bandage it up, but you have to keep it lifted whenever you can, and don't put too much pressure on it for a bit, alright? Same for your back. It's properly strained." Derek nodded again, he didn't want to open his mouth, didn't have it in him, with all that was crawling up his throat, itching against his tongue, wanting to be released into the world.

" How is your breathing? Need something for the airways?" He breathed in, her scent immediately invading his senses, reminding him of home, how it once was, how he wished it could be again. The exhale came out shaky, weak, and his face fell, features crumbling in defeat. He put an arm over his face, feeling pathetic for crying in front of her, for not being able to stop it, to keep it together.

But then her arms were around him, and he hadn't felt anything like it in years, hadn't allowed himself to feel the ache for his mother, for the grip she always seemed to have on him. Melissa was whispering something in his ears that were no longer ringing with fire and death, were now drinking up how her voice sounded, how the wisdom dripped from it, how tender all its octaves were. Derek clung to her, crying somewhere between her chest and her arm, and she let him, despite the heaviness of his upper body, and how he almost didn't fit in her small arms. It was still the most contained he'd felt since his mother had gone away.

They heard someone saying Stiles' name, and she pulled away, moving her thumbs across his face, erasing what was left of his tears, before she walked out. Derek pulled himself together, breathing slowly, till his heart didn't feel like it was trying to run away from him. He leaned against the walls, till he could hear the sheriff saying something, could smell all the people he'd held close to his heart, would have held them in it, if he could trust it enough to bear it. He looked up, and Stiles was sitting between his father and Lydia, coughing out a story that Derek couldn't hear, because his heartbeat was there, and it was strong and steady and everything Derek's could no longer be.

He didn't know if he pushed against the wall or let go or just collapsed somewhere in between, but Stiles was holding onto him, like he was the one in need of reassurance. Like he was the one unable to shake away how his skin smelled as it peeled, how much pain there was in the air, right before they'd taken him away. Derek buried his face into Stiles' shoulders, breathing him in, and there it was. There he was, under everything they'd taken away from him, he was everything he'd remembered him to be.

" What did they say? Are you okay?" Derek pulled away, taking Stiles' face between his hands, looking between his eyes, the warmness of their brown, tearing past all the redness Derek could always see.

" Leg is broken in two places. Dislocated shoulder. First and second degree burns. Smoke inhalation. But nothing permanent. Nothing too bad." Derek sighed, dropping his forehead against Stiles'.

" I can't believe you did that. For me. I- I don't know what to say."

" I'm just glad you're okay. All of you." Cora appeared somewhere behind Stiles, having a hand on his back, and leaving it there, till Derek pulled away from him, putting an arm around her neck, and bringing her to his side.

" Thank you, Stiles. You saved his life." She clung to her brother, smelling faintly of paralyzing fear of loss, of being left alone in the world. Stiles smiled, jumping slightly on his one good foot, to maintain his balance.

" What did I say, you two, about putting pressure on your legs? If you don't sit down till I'm done with your paperwork, I'm putting you in wheelchairs. How about that?" Melissa tapped her foot impatiently, arms crossed against her chest.

" That would actually be pretty fun, I can already think of a few games, and a race, where we-"

" Sit." Melissa clipped, finger pointing to Stiles' previous seat, and he immediately found his way back to it, using his crutches. Derek followed, a somewhat amused expression on his features, now that he was a little less afraid, not as traumatized.

" Derek, I love you, but I'm never coming here for holidays again. You guys are batshit crazy." Cora exclaimed, as the hallway echoed with laughter and togetherness. She shook her head, leaning an arm against Malia, and the other against Isaac.

" How did you know we were in trouble?" Derek questioned, leaning towards where Scott sat.

" I was leaving Stiles' house when I saw the fire starting in the woods. We figured we'd come just to give you a heads up, but by the time we got there, the tree was already crashing through your window. We found Peter running out, I heard two heartbeats still in the house, so we went in."

" Peter let you come for us, and he didn't help? Didn't think to at least let us know it was happening?" Scott shrugged at that, pinching his lips in aggravation.

" It's Peter, Derek. When have we ever been able to count on him? He kept saying something about not burning again, I think he was in shock or something. I don't know. Stiles had already run inside anyway, so I didn't have that much time to reason with Peter."

" Next time, maybe don't let the human who can't heal, climb the burning stairs, to get to the furthest away, sleeping werewolf." Derek tried to smile, putting an anchoring hand on Scott's neck.

" Next time? Maybe we should all just get those fireproof suits and walk around with them. Just in case, you know."

Laughs erupted again, soothing what was still weighing on Derek's heart. The sheriff said something about them staying at their house, both Cora and Derek, till they could find somewhere else for themselves, and Derek didn't have to look at Cora, to feel her lighting up, a grateful grin on her face, as she took Derek's injured leg, and laid it on her own, to lift it up a bit. And Derek couldn't help but think that his house burned down again, but this time, they didn't burn with it. He considered that a win.


End file.
